


Seeing

by Wolfstar4evr



Series: Supernatural Oneshots [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Dean Winchester, Alcoholism, Angry Dean Winchester, Awesome Bobby Singer, Dark Dean Winchester, Emotional Abuse, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt & Comfort, Loving Bobby, No graphic details of abuse, Parental Bobby Singer, emotional hurt & comfort, not proof read, season five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:35:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfstar4evr/pseuds/Wolfstar4evr
Summary: Bobby sees a lot. He sees the stress his boys are under now the apocalypse has started. He sees how hard Sam is trying to make up for it. He sees how Dean is doing his best to stay afloat.He also sees the bruises on Sam's body, and he sees the way Dean takes in drink after drink. He sees how Sam becomes a shell and Dean becomes their father.It's time for things to change.





	Seeing

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has any story ideas or prompts they'd like to see written then feel free to let me know. I am so so behind on these stories that I've got to write three tomorrow but that's all good I'll get it done. 
> 
> I might develop this into a longer oneshot at a later date, as I really like the concept. Hope you enjoy!

Bobby knows something is wrong with his boys he just can’t quite place what. He hasn’t seen them for a couple months now, and to be honest with the apocalypse already started he expected them to be different – a little more angry and little more stressed. What he _didn’t_ expect, however, was for Dean to be making every single one of Sam’s decisions. He’s not even sure they realise it has happened, but he hasn’t seen Sam eat, sleep or even go to the bathroom without Dean telling him to first. Even worse, Dean seems to also be using Sam to do jobs that Dean should really be doing. Bobby asks Dean is he can clean a couple of his shots guns, the next thing he knows he finds Sam sitting at the kitchen table with one already gleaming and the other being polished. Dean mentions that the Impala is gonna need a tune up, two hours later Sam is sitting outside with the Impala’s hood open and _book_ on engine-care in his lap because Dean doesn’t seem to care that Sam knows nothing about cars, says that the kid needs to learn even if takes him hours. And it did, a job that Dean could have hacked out in half an hour took Sam almost seven hours just because he had no idea what to do. Even when it went dark, Sam stayed out there with a flashlight, all because Dean told him to.

Bobby sees a lot of other crap, too. He sees the bruises on Sam’s arms – sometimes on his neck and shoulders, once on his face – and he sees the drunk look in Dean’s eyes and smells the whiskey on his breath. He sees the way Sam lowers his eyes when Dean speaks to him, sees the way his hands shake when Dean enters a room. He sees as Dean gives him order after order, and Sam nods, staying silent even as the air around him exudes ‘yes sir’.

Sam always does what he’s told, even when it comes from Bobby, unless Dean has already told him to do something different.

Like now.

When Bobby woke up at five this morning Sam was already sitting in his library reading through their old texts on the fabled apocalypse, an almost empty mug of coffee on the table. It’s now four in the afternoon, and Sam is still in the same spot, looking paler than ever with heavy circles under his eyes. As far as Bobby knows, Sam has been working for over twelve hours straight, at the least, with only two minute breaks to refill his coffee mug, and even then he brought his book with him. He didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, either, no matter how much Bobby tried to get him to. Dean has been in and out all day, having finally rolled out of bed at nine, and hasn’t even spoken to his brother, hasn’t even taken a second to notice the state the kid he once protected with his life is in.

Bobby has had enough. Carefully, he approaches Sam and gently pulls the book away from him. “Sam,” He says kindly, but as firmly as he can. “Why don’t you take a break, kiddo?”

Sam looks up, and the confusion in his eyes is like a knife in Bobby’s chest. “Would you like me to look at something else? Do you need help?” His tone is so cautious Bobby feels sick; this is _his_ kid, his _boy_ , sitting here clearly confused by a man who has tried to protect him all his life telling him to stop working himself into the ground, to stop slowly _killing_ himself.

“All I want you to do is take a nap,” Bobby explains in a quiet voice; he wants to make it clear to Sam that he’s not in trouble; that he has nothing to worry about Bobby; that he _cares_.  

“I’ve got to finish this,” Sam replies, and even as he says it he just sounds so _exhausted_ , like finishing whatever God awful task Dean has him doing is the last thing he really wants to do, but he’ll do it anyway. “I _have_ to.”

“You _have_ to sleep,” Bobby argues, placing a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder. “And you _have_ to _eat_. This is non-negotiable, Sam, you can either come with me into the kitchen to eat something, or you can come with me upstairs to take a nap.”

Sam doesn’t seem to know what to do, and it takes Bobby a minute to realise that the kid looks _overwhelmed_. It’s probably been a good few weeks since Sam has even been given the _option_ to make a choice for himself. “Let’s start with a snack,” Bobby suggests, trying a weak smile as relief floods Sam’s face, even as the weariness that he always seems to have remains. Bobby wants to wring Dean’s neck, but Dean isn’t here right now, so he focuses his energy on making Sam feel as at ease as he can.

He makes Sam a ham sandwich, and watches as he rips it to pieces and then only eats the slivers of bread, leaving the ham in pieces on his plate. He seems to have some trouble swallowing the crusts too, as if something so dense is a challenge. Bobby noticed how skinny Sam was the moment the boys walked in. When was the last time Sam had a full meal? How much is he really eating? It seems to Bobby that Sam is only eating enough to get _by_ , and Dean is not only letting it happen he’s _causing it_.

He then makes Sam drink some water; the kid can’t live on coffee alone, no matter what he or his brother thinks.

After that the kid does seems more relaxed, to the point where, when Bobby follows him into the library ten minutes later, Sam is horizontal on the couch dead asleep, a hand still stretched out to the table resting on a book. Bobby finally gives a real smile – his first since the boys arrived two weeks ago – and moves Sam’s hand to rest next to him on the couch before covering the boy with a blanket. “Sleep well, kid.” And sleep _long_.

But only twenty minutes later, Dean comes through the front door with a _bang_ , the wood rattling in its frame, shaking on its hinges. Bobby rushes out into the library to stop Dean from waking his brother, but it’s too late, Dean is already roughly shaking his little brother, ripping the blanket from his body.

“ _Dean_ ,” He hisses as Sam’s eyes begin to open blearily, clearly not ready to yet. “Leave him; I just got him to sleep.”

“He’s got work to do, Bobby,” He says, as casual as you please. “You spoil him. Can’t have him slacking.”

Bobby, after two weeks, has _finally_ had enough. “He is working himself _into the ground because of you!_ ” He snaps before he can stop himself, before he can even put a filter on his tone. He takes a strange sense of joy on the upset on Dean’s face, even as the shout startles Sam fully awake and he sits up on the couch, looking wildly between the two of them. “I haven’t seen him eat a full meal in weeks! He has been working for over _twelve hours straight_ just because _you told him to_. He needs sleep and he needs a hug, because like your daddy you’ve turned into a _mean drunk_ , Dean Winchester. You think that because you pop breath mints like candy that I don’t smell it on your breath, or that I don’t see the scars you’re leaving on your brother.”

Dean’s expression darkens, and he reaches over to grab Sam’s arm. “We’re going, Sam,” He growls out, yanking his _barefoot_ brother towards the front door. Bobby immediately has flashback to a fight with John, almost twenty years ago, when the man pulled both his kids out of Bobby’s home in their pyjamas at two in the morning because he couldn’t face the fact that he was raising his children to be slaughtered, that the life was already breaking seven year old Sam’s spirit and eleven year old Dean was already forty inside. That day he let John walk out with both his kids, let him slam that door and rumble away in his enormous car. He didn’t see the boys again for three years, and he regretted it ever since. Even after he got the boys back, even after John died, he carried that regret, because that day, he let them go.

Not today.

He picks up his shotgun and cocks it, aiming straight for Dean’s chest. It’s only filled with rock salt, but Dean doesn’t know that. “Let him go, boy,” He growls, and for a moment looks so shocked he looks almost sober. The clouds with anger quickly though, and to Bobby’s surprise he lets Sam go, pushing the poor boy halfway across the room as he does. There’s already a handprint forming on his arm, and he looks _terrified_.

“If you want to be saddled with him, _fine_ ,” Dean hisses. “I’m glad someone finally wants to take the little bitch.”

With that he’s gone, the door slamming behind him, and soon the Impala is grumbling away. Sam looks at Bobby with a mix of panic and a strange _relief_. “Bobby,” He chokes out, obviously overwhelmed by what’s just happened, overwhelmed by the fact he’s not under Dean’s thumb anymore, that he’s safe.

“It’s okay, kid,” Bobby says, pulling his kid into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay. Don’t you worry.”

Nothing more is said between the two, even as the hug doesn’t break for a long time, even as Sam begins to quietly cry into Bobby’s shoulder, even when Sam falls to his knees, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. Bobby picks him up then, still not saying anything as he corrals the boy up the stairs and into bed. Sam falls into a dead sleep the moment he lays down on the mattress, and Bobby smiles as he pulls the sheets over Sam’s still form, safe in the knowledge that his kid is safe – even from his other kid – and that he’s finally getting some sleep. He presses a hand to Sam’s head, running a hand through his hair. “Sleep well, son,” He says. Not everything is fixed, not by a long way, but right now Sam is safe and on his way to being okay. Today was awful, but tomorrow will be a new day. It has to be.

Bobby will see to it.


End file.
